Emotional Detachment
by 4EverSmallville
Summary: Summary: Ace reporter, Clark Kent, is given a career making assignment, involving going undercover protecting the loved one of a familiar stranger. Can Clark solve the mystery around this family and still remain emotionally uninvolved? Clana


Myfirst foray into the SV universe at comments appreciated.

Spoilers: Through Season Three, Lana never came back from Paris.

Setting: 2016

Rating: PG 13 for mild language (T)

Disclaimers: I own a character here and there, but nothing to boast about.

A/N: Clark hasn't yet assumed the role of Superman & Clana doesn't begin until the end of the Prologue. The Prologue is just to give a background on the story, it's pretty much Clana from there. This is a **Work in Progress**.

Summary: Ace reporter, Clark Kent, is given a career making assignment, involving going undercover protecting the loved one of a familiar stranger. Can Clark solve the mystery around this family and still remain emotionally uninvolved?

**_Emotional Detachment Prologue_**

Metropolis 2016

Cars flooded the streets of Metropolis, drivers honked madly as the stagnate traffic progressed a few inches every five minutes, pedestrians swore angrily at the motorists who dared creep into the crosswalks, and cyclists wended their way through the onslaught of edgy individuals, each trying to get to their own destination on time.

Taxis were useless in this part of town, unfortunately, so was every other possible mode of transportation. In downtown Metropolis, rush hour was every hour and every hour was a rush.

Life never stopped in the city, not even for the summer. There was always someone walking, someone driving, someone gossiping, someone arguing, someone buying, someone selling, someone for every daily activity to be carried out. The main populace of Metropolis was concerned with only themselves while the select few who were paid to protect and to serve were selfless on the clock but oblivious at any other hour.

The Daily Planet was no exception to the always in motion theory of Metropolitan natural law. Deliveries were constantly being made, articles cluttered cubicles, phones rang incessantly, computer keys clicked away, nothing ever stood still in this office, if it did, the culprit would find themselves immediately unemployed, Perry White would see to that.

_Damn that Kent_, Lois Lane thought enviously as she read the cover article for that morning's edition. _'High and Mighty - Rich, powerful, and upstanding citizen arrested in million dollar drug traffic bust, by Clark Kent.' _

Lois glared at Clark's grinning mug shot next to his career-making article and beneath his clever pun of a title. _This is the kind of article that gets recognition. _

Seething, Lois wondered why it wasn't her to get the great story. She was there, too. Yet somehow, he was closer. Why was that?

Lois jabbed at the power button on her computer, deciding that she would break the next big story, and it would be her picture next to the byline.

As her computer booted up, Lois let out a gasp. Her usual desktop, a collage of pictures of mostly herself and her cousin, had been replaced with an enlarged article that had never been to print. The title read: KENT BEATS LANE TO SCOOP, by Clark Kent.

Lois scowled furiously as she began reading the contents of the ludicrous article. _'Lois Lane, incompetent investigative journalist and inadequate speller, has been beaten to the career highlighting drug traffic story by junior staff member, Clark Kent.' Incompetent and inadequate!_ Lois had just begun plotting the most covert of methods to sabotage Clark's heightened ego when the perpetrator himself entered the bustling office.

"Hey Clark, great article!"

"Way to go Kent!"

"Nice one man!"

Uncharacteristic though it was for her co-workers to stop their busy tasks, the office seemed to come to a standstill as Clark Kent made his way through the crowd, smiling shyly.

"What's all this noise?" came a booming voice. Perry White, a short, balding man, stepped out of his corner office to detect the source of the raucous and chew them out for it. His eyes fell on Clark, who was just as resolutely looking the opposite way, face slightly flushed from embarrassment.

"Since when do we applaud people for coming in late?" Perry snapped, glancing at the clock. "I'm docking your pay for that, Kent, don't let it happen again."

With that, he retreated back into his isolated office, slamming the door loudly behind him. As soon as the walls stopped reverberating the sounds of Perry's closed door, the office roared again, complimenting Clark on his job well done.

No one, of course, took Perry's empty threat seriously, Clark was late everyday, and everyday Perry admonished him with the same words, yet Clark still seemed to afford his lavish penthouse apartment.

When Clark finally reached his desk, he greeted his partner and desk-neighbor, with a boastful grin, that all but said, "Na-na-na-na-na!"

"Why is it that you are so modest and humble with everyone else, but with me you're this crazed egomaniac?" Lois inquired, turning her monitor so Clark could see her renovated desktop.

Clark's smile widened as he saw his own work displayed on her screen. He lowered his voice slightly and gave her a cocky wink. "Everyone in here knows that I'm a good reporter, but you deny it perennially. _Why is that_?"

Lois rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to her own screen, attempting to undo Clark's little project. "You are not _that_ good of a reporter."

"I guess that's a bit easier to say when you don't get…fan mail," Clark gestured toa pile of letters stacked neatly on the corner of his otherwise disorderly desk.

Lois turned in disbelief as Clark plucked a letter from atop the pile and proceeded to open it. He cleared his throat and read aloud,

"Mr. Kent, I think you are the coolest. When I grow up, I want to be just like you."

Lois let out an exasperated sigh, whomever wrote that couldn't have even read his latest article when they mailed it.

"Mr. Kent," Clark continued, opening a second letter after he'd propped the last up for Lois to clearly see, "Your work is really impressive. You're one of the best reporters in Metropolis - aw - and you're one of the hottest guys too."

"Oh, God," Lois muttered aloud as Clark bit his lip, pretending to be touched.

"It's letters like these that really keep me going, Lo'," Clark said with mock sincerity, covering his heart with the sheet of paper in his hand.

Lois grabbed a particularly thick folder from her desk and whacked Clark in the shoulder with it. He chuckled as she tossed it angrily back onto her desk. She hated when he was conceited, and she truly despised when he had the audacity to call her 'Lo'. She shuddered at the thought.

"Kent!" a yell quaked through the office, halting the light conversations and leaving a heavy silence.

"Perry," Clark said quietly, steeling himself up for his next chastising lecture.

"What the hell did you do?" Lois asked, clicking furiously at her mouse. She couldn't change her desktop back to it's original state.

Clark gave her a half smile as he took the few strides to Perry's office, head low like he was walking to the gallows.

Clark knocked cautiously on the door, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough so as to avoid being pestilential.

When Perry didn't respond, Clark opened the door slowly and poked his head inside. "Sir?"

Perry looked up from a fax he'd been reading and waved Clark inside. "C'min, c'min," his words were oddly distorted as a cigar hung limply from his mouth.

"You-uh, wanted to see me, sir?" Clark said, as he closed the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Perry affirmed, removing the Cuban from his lips and setting it in his ceramic tray. "Yeah, you're feeling pretty good about yourself, right now, aren't you Kent?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. As much as he pretended around Lois, he truly preferred living out of the limelight. "Not really, sir, not -uh-no more than usual."

"Well you should be!" Perry barked, causing Clark to jump slightly. "Hell of an article you wrote, I've been getting calls about you all morning."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Have some confidence, Kent!" Perry handed him the fax he'd been reading when Clark had entered. "I got this a few minutes ago."

Clark glimpsed the logo in the header and frowned. "Metropolis PD?"

Perry, once again absorbed in his cigar, gestured for Clark to read the memo.

"They want me to help with some kind of investigation?" Clark said aloud as he finished the document. "Why do they want me?"

"Because, Kent!" Perry shouted, clearly tired of Clark's low self-esteem. "You can get to the bottom of things. You're on the ball. No matter how bumbling you are off the clock, when you have an assignment, you get things done."

"But sir, this sounds more like detective work than-"

"Are you aware that detective is synonymous with investigator?"

"Uh-yes, sir, but-"

"And are you an _investigative_ reporter?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then it is in your job _description_ to take this case, Kent. I shouldn't have to tell you to accept this job, it's an honor. With journalism, you have to find the story. With this, they're giving it to you, you just have to follow the bread crumbs. What do you say, Kent?"

"Uh-"

"Remember, Kent," Perry lectured. "Confidence."

Clark nodded, his grip tightening slightly on the memo. _Confidence_. "Yeah, yes. Yes, sir, I'll do it."

"That's my boy."

The detectives' office in the police department was hardly any less busy than the Planet or the streets outside. People were constantly walking back and forth, paying no attention to the conference room where Pandora's box was about to be opened.

Clark sat quietly in his seat at the only table in the room. His arms crossed in an impatient fashion, Clark's blue-green eyes took in his sordid surroundings. _Some honor._

The cool air conditioning would have been relieving after the hot, sticky weather outside, but Clark, being impervious to temperature, was perfectly comfortable. His windswept hair sat messily on his head and his black sunglasses were sitting on the cool metal table which wouldn't look out of place in an operating room.

Two detectives were also stationed at the rectangular table with him, one on either side. Simpson, a wizened, bespectacled man who seemed to inhale every breath as his last. And James, a gorgeous, but stern-looking blonde, whose first name Clark desperately wanted to learn.

They were apparently waiting on a third party, something Clark realized when a man slightly older than himself came in with a large cardboard box. He rested his package on the table as the door closed behind him, his short brown hair matted slightly, despite the air conditioning.

"Clark Kent?"

Clark stood at his name and offered his hand.

"Scott, Scott Matthews," the man said, accepting Clark's hand. "These are Detectives James and Simpson."

Detective Simpson gave Clark a warm smile; Detective James only gave him a curt nod_. Ouch._

"Have a seat, Mr. Kent," Scott instructed, "have you been briefed on your assignment?"

"Clark, please, and, uh- no."

Scott removed a folder from his box and slid it across the table at Clark, who stopped it with his hand.

"Read quickly," he ordered, suddenly businesslike. "These two will answer any of your questions."

He left the room before Clark could get another word in, leaving his large box behind.

Clark sighed, opening the folder.

The first thing he saw was a picture of himself, along with a detailed biography. He immediately noticed that the biography had nothing to do with his own life.

"What's this?"

"Your new identity," Simpson replied.

Clark picked out a Kansas State license and read aloud, "Tom Johnson? Do I really look like a Tom to you guys?"

When Clark realized that they were going to ignore his question, he ruffled through the folder.

"You will need to familiarize yourself with the contents of that folder. From this point on, Clark Kent ceases to exist," James said.

_Thanks, Perry_.

"We will need you to empty your pockets and give us all of the personal items you have on your person. Keys, wallet, identification, press pass-"

"Why?"

"Because there needs to be no evidence that you are Clark Kent," James answered in a strained voice as though she was explaining something simple to a very ignorant child.

"And so my picture everyday in the Planet is really going to make that conceivable?"

"You will no longer work for the Planet while you are on this case, you-"

"What?" Clark couldn't allow that. He'd worked too hard to get where he was, the highlight of his career. As much as he liked to help others, he still had his own responsibilities.

"Calm down, Mr. Kent." Simpson had spoken for the first time, and Clark noted just how soothing his voice was. "Maybe you should learn the details of your assignment, before you make any decisions."

"Okay," Clark agreed, his breaths slightly irregular.

"Have you ever heard of Teague Enterprises?"

Clark shook his head, no.

"Well the owner of the company, Jason Teague, has enlisted Metropolis PD to protect his son; he feels he's in danger."

"And that's where this Tom guy comes in?" Clark offered.

"Yes," Simpson nodded sagely. "We have provided Mr. Teague with Tom Johnson to protect his son."

"Okay," Clark said, glad that this plan was starting to make some sense. "But why me, then? Why not find some real Tom Johnson to protect his son?"

"Because," James interrupted. "You do know that Lexcorp has recently excavated all of the meteor rocks from Smallville, right?"

"I do," Clark answered shortly.

"Teague Enterprises is looking to purchase the entire stock of meteor rocks for unknown purposes."

"Why do I get the feeling the purposes aren't all that unknown?"

James quirked an eyebrow, clearly surprised at how quickly Clark drew conclusions. "Certain sources have revealed to us that Teague intends to use the meteor rocks for illegal human research."

"Sources?"

"Lexcorp."

"No," Clark said, standing up.

"No what?" James asked, perplexed.

"If you guys have some kind of alliance with Lex Luthor," Clark retorted, "I'm not interested."

"You will have no direct contact with Lex Luthor," James explained. "He is only assisting Metropolis PD in bringing down Teague."

"Of course he is," Clark spat, making his way to the door. He couldn't believe he'd been suckered this far into their little scheme.

"We know about your past with Mr. Luthor, Clark," Simpson said wisely as Clark reached for the door. "You were chosen because we knew you could remain objective and not be intimidated by Lex Luthor. We need someone who can remain emotionally uninvolved."

Clark considered Simpson's words as his hand rested on the doorknob.

Sensing Clark's hesitancy, Simpson continued. "As Tom Johnson, you will have the inside scoop to Teague's life. You will be able to find out what his intentions are as it pertains to the meteor rocks. You will be in close contact with his son at all times. You will need to remain emotionally detached…And if you do find out what Teague is up to, you will expose him, putting him in prison and putting your journalistic talents on the global map."

Fighting crime, protecting the innocent, exposing the truth…isn't that what he'd devoted his life to? And who was he to complain if there was a little self-promotion to be had?

"Okay," Clark said, turning around. "Yeah, count me in."

After reviewing the contents of the folder, relinquishing all of his personal items, and completing a brief, mandatory, but unnecessary lesson in self-defense, Clark met his assignment.

He entered an office where Scott sat tiredly behind a desk before three chairs. A man and woman sat in two of them; the third was unoccupied.

"Here he is," Scott said, smiling grimly at Clark. "Jason Teague, Tom Johnson."

The man in the chair stood and approached Clark. He was slightly shorter than Clark with neatly trimmed blonde hair. He stuck out his hand.

Clark shook it firmly, but his attention was diverted as the woman in the second chair turned around. Her eyes widened as she saw the man her husband was now greeting.

Clark's face fell when he recognized the beauty who had risen from her chair to face them. Neither of them could put words together, but Clark's mind was buzzing.

_Lana?_


End file.
